


burying our differences in the sand

by vailserenity



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: F/F, and also olivia taylor dudley talking about lesbian alice, insp. by various poetry, quentin is barely mentioned but he is still implied trans, so true queen!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28335957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vailserenity/pseuds/vailserenity
Summary: Margo needs to stop getting attached to first-years. Granted, it's only happened once, but it hasn't had very successful results. Alice Quinn is an enigma — she's interesting, and Margo wants to understand her. It would help if Alice was open to the possibility that sometimes, people just wanted to be friends with her, with no ulterior motives.(a track of margo and alice's relationship between seasons 1 through five)
Relationships: Margo Hanson/Alice Quinn, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	burying our differences in the sand

**Author's Note:**

> all quotes used are from lgbt/wlw authors ! merry christmas arcade :] i hope u enjoy !!

_as soon as I glance at you a moment, I_

_can’t say a thing,_

_and my tongue stiffens into silence, thin_

_flames underneath my skin prickle and spark,_

_a rush of blood booms in my ears, and then_

_my eyes go dark_

**_Sappho 31_ **

When Margo first lays eyes on Alice, she does _not_ , contrary to popular belief, immediately try to bully her. 

She’s never seen her before. She’s heard of her, _obviously_ — it’s Alice Quinn, anyone who knows _anything_ in terms of gossip at Brakebills knows Alice Quinn. Her reputation precedes her. Alice matches her description. Her clothes are ripped straight from the “preppy” section of a magazine, and it’d be hard to be more stereotypically _a nerd_ if she tried. That’s the straightest hair that Margo has possibly ever seen in her entire life, and she _really_ needs to stop straightening so much, oh my god. It’s not going to last long like that. 

Maybe Margo could help her with that?

She mentally slaps herself. This is a freshman she has _never met_ . Who now hates her because Margo has a condition called _chronic bitch_ and she can’t take the inflection of vague meanness out of her voice. It’s honestly a little surprising that Quentin is willing to stick around her, considering he looks like he’d turn tail and run behind a tree and hide or something and the first sign of danger.

So, props to him on that front. It does not solve the Alice-problem.

“How did she take ‘ _come sit with us’_ wrong,” Margo mutters. She is, honestly, a little offended — Alice didn’t even give her a chance! But, Margo is persistent, contrary, _and_ someone who always wins in the end. Alice will like her, she just doesn’t realize that yet. And, at some far-off point in the future (if reputation serves to be correct, Alice is just as stubborn as she is, and it will take a lot of convincing to make her realize this), Alice will thank her for when Margo fixes her hair care habits and introduces her to the wonderful world of Margo’s Wardrobe and the Physical Cottage Parties. 

The reality is: Alice is probably the most gifted freshman, and could give likely all of the second-years a run for their money. Hell, _Margo_ wouldn’t want to try her chances against her when it comes to magic, and Margo isn’t your average student in terms of performance. Alice comes from a family with a _unique_ reputation, and if any of the stories are true, then that has definitely affected her. And, most people _do_ hate Alice, because she is undoubtedly better than they could ever hope to be.

So, Margo doesn’t blame Alice for her instant denial of Margo’s friendship attempt. Yeah, it stings a little bit; Margo doesn’t do _friendship attempts_ very often, and she’s not used to being shut down so hard. But Margo is not “most people”, and she doesn’t hate Alice.

She loves challenges, though. And _Alice Quinn_ looks like a challenge worth putting effort into.

“What are you thinking about, Bambi?” Eliot prods her, a gesture Margo does not appreciate, but can forgive because it’s Eliot. It’s not something Eliot’s new favorite freshman should try if he wants to keep working use of his dick. “Scheming super-villain plans? Trying to figure out if she’s ever been laid?”

Margo shoots him a look. She has a reputation to uphold, and whilst her confidence outweighs the character of _cold-hearted bitch_ that she’s built for herself, she doesn’t particularly want to get into her feelings on Alice in front of the freshman classmate whose known Alice for six hours and already looks slightly enamoured with her. 

So, instead. “Did you see her _hair_? How long do you think she’ll keep that up for?”

Quentin opens his mouth, and:

“Quentin, I say this with respect. I don’t want to hear anything _you_ have to say about hair.”

He closes it.

There’s a moment of silence that would be awkward if Margo cared about such things. She doesn’t, though, and she doesn’t feel bad for shutting Quentin down because keeping his opinions on hair out of the world is performing a public service. Either way, there’s silence. Eliot seems to be simultaneously scanning the courtyard for other freshmen to examine, whilst staring at Quentin’s posture and trying to decide if he has scoliosis or not.

“I’m going to go apologize,” Quentin murmurs. He nods goodbye to Margo and Eliot, and starts trailing in the direction Alice stalked off in. 

“Straighten your back!” El yells after him, at the same as Margo yells, only half-joking.

“Give her my number!” 

Quentin hunches in on himself even further, which is a little impressive, and looks confused at Margo’s comment. Well, at least Margo knows not to expect any help from Eliot on the Alice Quinn front. He’s got his hands full with another freshman already. He offers her a cigarette, this’ll be a _long_ year.

At least Margo doesn’t have to fix Alice’s _posture_. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_I want you to tell me something I don’t know about you. Something about the day before that photograph in which you’re standing on your head. I want to know about softball and the team picture. Why are you so little next to the others? Were you younger? Were you small as a girl? What I want most is to have been a girl with you and played on the opposite team so I could have liked you and competed against you at the same time._

**_“Asking About you”, Eloise Klein Healy_ **

Alice wasn’t wearing her glasses last night, and all Margo can focus on _now_ is her eyes. She flips pages she isn’t reading, and glances up at Alice every few moments. Their eyes meet occasionally, and they both wait for the other to broach the subject. As much as Margo _does_ want to help Alice, she is also somewhat stubborn and will not be the first to speak. It’s a competition, almost, to see who can bear the thick silence for longer.

Margo, like she does most things, will win. Both of them know this. Margo, like most people, does not like to lose — she and Alice are similar in this. 

Margo thinks that losing to Alice Quinn would be worth it, if only to experience the competition itself.

She has a hair mask and a straightener which, according to reviews, is very kind to your hair, sitting on her bed upstairs. Every day she’s grateful that Amazon ships to Brakebills, and that Eliot’s Prime account allows for free, two-day delivery. She hasn’t quite formulated a plan to _give_ them to Alice, yet, but Margo is feeling inclined to slip in a request for Alice to take her glasses a little more with the gift. 

This is _so embarrassing._ It’s pathetic. Eliot will never let her hear the end of it.

There is, of course, a more pressing issue at hand: Alice’s tragic backstory, which unfortunately, makes _so_ much sense. She’s just exposed herself to Margo, laid out the story of her dead brother in the middle of the cottage, and it’s all so fucking textbook. _Of course_ she has a dead brother. It’s not even surprising. With magic as strong as Alice’s, there has to be some misfortune in her past.

“The awkward thing, the anger underneath, the ineffable air of tragedy you wear like a perfume,” is what Margo says. She hopes it comes off as a _thank you for telling me_ , but Alice consistently underestimates Margo’s potential for kindness (or, maybe, the potential for people to be kind _to_ Alice, with Alice as the common denominator), and so the offense and confusion evident on Alice’s face is not a shock.

“Look, can you just tell me what you know about Charlie, please?” 

Margo isn’t used to _not_ knowing things. And so she scans her memory for anything that can help Alice, even the smallest hint.

“ _Loathe_ as I am to admit it, I don’t actually know anything.” She looks crestfallen at that. “ _Although_ , there was a girl from Charlie’s year who might. Emily Greenstreet.”

She’s 90% sure that’s her name. It’s been six or so years since Alice’s brother befell tragedy, and Margo doesn’t exactly have the names of every student since then memorized. 

Alice would prefer to go alone. Margo would prefer for Alice _not_ to go alone, and instead go with someone — specifically, that someone should be Margo. In truth, Alice probably could find Emily by herself. Margo isn’t going to miss out on a chance to learn gossip-slash-Alice Lore, and Alice shouldn’t have to learn the truth about her deceased brother by herself.

So, she tags along. Alice doesn’t seem very grateful. Margo is fine with doing this thanklessly. She understands what Eliot meant by _I bond fast_ when he relayed that line to her. 

God, the two of them are _hopeless._ They really had to choose the two most nerdy, least-cool members of the freshman class. 

That’s okay. At least it isn’t _Todd_. It can always get worse.

Margo has enough time to make Alice _cool_ , though. Maybe she and Quentin will cancel out like a double negative, and she and Eliot can rest assured that their reputation won’t take a hit because of their taste in first-years. Margo knows which she would choose if the choice was between the three-years she’s spent building a name for herself and the two-and-a-half months she’s known Alice Quinn, and isn’t _that_ mortifying.

(A day later, Alice announces she’s leaving. “You should be happy. Less competition,” is what she says. Margo hopes her words mean something more than that.

_I’ll miss you_ , Margo protests. She pronounces it as, “I like competition.”

Alice walks out. On Margo’s bed is a hair straightener which isn’t supposed to ruin one’s hair, even if they do overuse it to an unnecessary extent. There’s half a spell transcribed, by hand, that temporarily sharpens your vision. There’s a dress that Alice once tried on.

Fuck. Margo is never getting attached to a first-year again.)

_And what if. I completely remember_

_it wrong. What if I remember there were two_

_of us. And then what if. there was only one death._

_I do not believe in the existence of holes_

_that lead to nowhere. Muscle memory remains an enigma. Still, you can_

_touch her. You cannot touch her without not touching me._

_(And still) you are not not a part of me. The world is_

_uncharacteristically unresponsive._

_I could thank you. You stay with me. like grass._

**_“Thaw” from Gephryomania, TC Tolbert_ **

_I’m sorry for all the times I was a total dick to you_ , she says to Alice. But, this isn’t Alice, because she’s cold and detached and her eyes reflect steel, not ice. This isn’t who Margo should be apologizing to, and not what Margo should be apologizing _for._ She’s sorry that she and Alice are so different, that Alice can’t understand her and that she can’t understand Alice. She’s sorry that she and Alice are so _similar_ , neither attuned to compromise. She’s sorry that Alice felt the need to do this, that Margo wasn’t warm enough for Alice to explain her plan to niffin-ize herself before she did it.

God. This can’t be how things end. Eliot is protecting her, standing in front of her, shielding her. Protecting her from _Alice_. 

This isn’t Margo’s fault. Alice made her choice. 

_She’ll never forgive herself for letting this happen. She could’ve done more, should’ve done more. Alice should never have gotten to this point in the first place, Margo could’ve stopped this, this is on her, she should’ve realized—_

Quentin says _go free_. Alice hits the ground. Quentin crawls to her.

All Margo can do is watch. 

_The art of losing isn’t hard to master;_

_so many things seem filled with the intent_

_to be lost that their loss is no disaster._

_..._

_I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,_

_some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent._

_I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster._

_—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture_

_I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident_

_the art of losing’s not too hard to master_

_though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster._

**_“One Art”, Elizabeth Bishop_ **

It’s been thrown in her face time and time again. Alice leaving, Alice _dying_ , Alice coming back only to break the keys, break everything they’ve worked for because of her own selfish agenda.

Margo hates her, she hates her _so much_ and she’s _so_ angry, and she’ll never forgive Alice.

Those are just a few of the lies Margo loves to tell herself.

Realistically, she owes Alice _nothing_. No help, no forgiveness. Margo has given her enough. From the moment they met, Margo had tried to help her, with Charlie, with Brakebills culture, with fashion. She’s tried to be her friend, they’ve sat too close next to each other on a bed and drunk from the same bottle, and sat too far away as Alice spilled her tragic backstory to Margo. Margo has listened, has tried to understand.

Once, she thought she’d be comfortable losing to Alice Quinn. If this is what that feels like, she wants no part in it.

She doesn’t love the competition, anymore, when magic and all of her and her friends’ work is on the line. She doesn’t love the competition when Alice paints herself as a villain. Margo doesn’t love competing against Alice when real things are at stake. It was never supposed to be this serious. Every time she teased Alice, joked about her, competed with her — it was only that, a game of cat and mouse, except they’re both the cats and so it’s cat and cat where Margo loved the thrill of the chase and hoped that Alice did too.

Neither of them like this, now. Neither of them want this. Alice can’t. She has to know this is wrong. 

Margo is High King of Fillory. She has an objective, which is to restore magic. If there’s anything she’s learned, it’s that her feelings cannot come first. She has to prioritize, to make difficult choices, to compromise and to sacrifice.

The sacrifice here is Alice Quinn, and understanding. Margo cannot try to understand her, _will_ not try to understand her. Whatever reasons Alice has will not be enough to justify this.

Margo runs after Alice with a knife. She is fully prepared to use it. Sacrifice. This is her losing Alice for the third time, more precisely _letting go._ Losing Alice by choice. Breaking whatever bond existed between them with one slash. This isn’t the chase she asked for, not the cat and mouse-slash-cat game she wanted. 

She makes do. 

Alice says magic makes people selfish and irresponsible. Margo doesn’t know how she’s so _blind_. Magic is both the fire and the salve, a wound and the bandages that cover it. You pay for it in silver bars, and are rewarded with gold coins. Magic brings friends together, creates love and understanding and music in a cottage at a university. Magic is woven into the unfixable rift between them. Magic allows for people to find meaning, to grin and laugh, and cry from joy and pain in equal measure.

Magic killed Penny Adiyodi. Magic killed Charlie Quinn. Magic killed Alice Quinn. 

It’s ironic, so fucking ironic, that _now_ is when Margo understands Alice Quinn. When she’s finally stopped trying, when she’s given up trying to decipher the components of Alice, when she’s resigned herself to living on a different wavelength, a different place, out of tune and out of touch with whatever-the-hell goes on inside Alice's mind.

She doesn’t _agree_ with Alice. Alice has had pretty bad luck with magic to be honest, and Margo can’t blame her for hating it. Glass horses don’t weigh the same as death, and they aren’t enough to see the beauty of magic. Hell, Margo has her doubts as to if magic was worth it in the first place, but it’s not something they can live without now.

(If things were different, Margo would have wanted to help show Alice why magic was worth keeping around. Things aren’t different, though, and there’s no room to compromise now.)

She catches Alice. Alice isn’t putting up much of a fight. They both know that it isn’t worth it now.

  
Alice won. The keys are destroyed. Neither of them can change that.

(Julia can. Julia does. Margo can’t find it in her heart to be happy.)

_How do we come to be here next to each other_

_in the night_

_Where are the stars that show us to our love_

_Inevitable_

_..._

_I am amazed by peace_

_It is this possibility of you_

_asleep_

_and breathing in the quiet air_

**_“Poem for My Love”, June Jordan_ **

“It feels like people forget that _I_ knew him too,” Margo admits. “I mean, it’s not like you, or Julia, or El, obviously, but it’s not like Quentin was a fucking… _stranger_ to me, or anything.”

Alice doesn’t say anything. And isn’t _this_ strange. To be sitting next to Alice Quinn, after everything, and to be grieving Quentin Coldwater with her. They’re on the rooftop of Brakebills, and the night sky unfolds above them, the chill seeping into Margo’s bones. She’s used to the cold, though. She’ll take the bite of ice over a numb weariness any day, and she’s grateful for the change.

“Normally I’m against the crazy plans you tell no-one about that end up with either someone dying or a quest being _ruined_ — no, don’t look at me like that, I am _not_ going to let you live that down — but, if _anything_ is on your mind for how to bring him back, then…”

“No more _crazy plans._ I’ve been told I need to be more of a team-player.”

Margo looks disbelievingly at Alice, lips pursed and eyebrows raised. Alice rolls her eyes, and for a moment, this feels like it could be _normal_.

“Of course I don’t mean that. Maybe, maybe not. I’m thinking about it.”

  
  
“You’re _Alice Quinn_. You always have crazy plans.”

“I thought you hated the crazy plans.”

  
  
“I’m willing to make an exception.”

Alice just shrugs, and steals the bottle from Margo’s hand. Margo doesn’t try very hard to stop her. Alice probably needs it more than Margo does.

“I don’t feel like… I’m allowed to grieve. Not for him. Not with everything. I should’ve stopped him.”

“A couple years ago, I knew a girl. We weren’t close. She probably hated me back then. She died, and I felt it was my fault.”

“Was it?”

  
  
“No,” Margo laughs, and this really isn’t something to laugh about. It’s either that or cry. “No, that was just… how she was. I could’ve been nicer to her before that, I guess, but it wouldn’t have stopped her. It’s not your fault, Alice. None of us could have stopped that. _Or_ , there were so many plays in motion that anything could have caused it. Sometimes life just… happens.”

  
  
“Death, too.”

“Death, too.” She agrees. “Here,” she grabs the bottle from Alice’s hand, who happens to have a death grip on it. She’s surprisingly strong, but Margo gets it in the end, lifting it in a toast. “Is to Quentin. _The Moderately Socially Maladjusted_.”

Alice smiles slightly. Despite the circumstances, she’s beautiful. Margo loves and hates the world for bringing them together and tearing them apart so many times.

“Did you know his middle name was _Makepeace?_ ” Alice asks after a moment. Margo chokes.

“It’s— _what?_ ”

“ _Makepeace._ He chose Makepeace.”

“And, I can see why you two did _not_ stay together.”

It’s Alice’s turn to choke on that. She doesn’t look offended, just a little shocked that Margo would say that.

“Relax! I’m joking. _Mostly_ . I mean, Makepeace, who gets to name themself and chooses _Makepeace_ .”

  
  
“I think we’re lucky he didn’t name himself after a Fillory character.”

Margo is aghast at the sheer possibility of that. 

“I’m glad you’re not alone right now, Alice. _Don’t_ quote me on this, because I have a reputation to maintain and all that, but I’m glad we could reconcile. I won’t let go of the whole-key-thing, but this is… pretty okay.”

“ _Pretty okay_. I like that.” 

It’s the middle of the night, trading a bottle back and forth, laying next to each other on the roof of a university for magic that hasn’t functioned properly for multiple years, that Margo realizes she is in love with Alice Quinn.

High-strung first-year nerds. She got attached.

“Can I sleep in your room tonight? It gets…”

  
“Lonely,” Margo finishes. It took a lot, but she understands Alice now. She grins. “Scandalous. At least take me out to dinner first.”

  
  
“I’m sure Josh has something lying around. A few crumbs?” Alice deadpans. 

“ _Good_ crumbs, if they’re from Josh.”

  
  
“The very best. Is that a yes?”

“Of course.”

  
It’s comfortable, and it’s them, and it’s Alice Quinn and Margo wants things to be this way forever. Alice warns Margo she steals blankets, and Margo hates when her feet are outside the covers, but she’s learned to compromise. She’ll fight Alice for the covers, but if she loses, well, she’s fine with that.

She wakes up next to Alice, and her feet are cold. Alice is asleep, but she’s breathing and she’s here and she’s warm. When she opens her eyes, they’ll be ice, not steel, and Margo will continue believing in and trying to love magic. 

Margo won’t forgive magic, or the world. She won’t think that it was all worth it. She won’t accept that everything happens for a reason. She’ll live in defiance, and perhaps the greatest act of defiance she can muster in smiling, and standing hand in hand with one Alice Quinn.

Under Margo’s bed is a box. It has been there for about three years, now. Inside is a hair straightener, a half-transcribed spell, and a dress. When Alice wakes up, Margo thinks she’ll give it to her.

For now, Margo revels in the morning light. 

_and if_

_I were to say_

_I love you and_

_I do love you_

_and I say it_

_now and again_

_and again_

_would you say_

_parataxis_

_would you see_

_the world revolves_

_anew_

_its axis_

_you_

**_“syntax”, Maureen N. McLane_ **


End file.
